


Love.

by thechickadee



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechickadee/pseuds/thechickadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The millions of things that make what they have special</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love.

Bitter was the acrid taste in his mouth when Amy looked him in the eye, then turned her back and walked away. It poisoned his throat when she was pregnant, threatening to choke him each day. Its foulness often brought tears to his eyes, effectively blurring his vision.

Anger was the massive wave that hit her heavily when Seth avoided her. Like a flash of lightning, it rushed through her blood when he hung up on her. It lit her cheeks on fire when he averted his gaze, and turned away from her every so often.

Jealousy was the carnal claw that squeezed his heart when Will’s hand rested on her back. Its tiny tendrils latched on to his brain and didn’t let go every time she said Will’s name. It crept through his veins like an ugly disease when he saw their lips meet. 

Hatred was the empty tequila bottle under her desk, reminding her that he got her drunk, then got mad at her for not being serious about ‘them’ for once. It was the deafening pounding in her ears when he told her that same night, drunk and angry, that he loved her. It was the sharp punch to the gut when she realized she wasn’t allowed to say it back.

Misery was the copious amount of alcohol he drank to forget. It was the dingy, yellow glow of the streetlight that surrounded his car the night he slept in it, because he didn’t want to leave work without Amy. It was the debilitating cold wash of fear that life was leaving him behind.

Despair was the sound of the clock striking two in the morning, Amy unable to sleep, thoughts of his warming smile flashing through her head and tearing her apart. It was the vast, dark hole that seemed to swallow her up. It clouded around her and smothered her when his hand rested softly upon hers. 

Longing was her blue threadbare T-shirt hidden in his car, because he never wanted to give it back. It was the unyielding string that pulled him back to her late at night. It was the smoldering tears that threatened to show when their eyes betrayed too much, the usually masked emotion raw and exposed.

But there was also…hope.

Hope was the sturdy grip of her hand on his, under the update desk, before every show. It burst through him sweetly when she rested her head on his shoulder, her arm loosely intertwined with his. It raised him up when she talked to him in that low, thrilling voice she used when she was bordering on complete crazed irrationality. 

And Exhilaration was the overpowering buzz of applause in their bones when the blinding lights flipped on over the Update desk. It was the joy that filled her to the top when he laughed at her jokes, his eyes sparkling like the ocean on a sunny day. It was the spine-tingling sensation of being young and undoubtedly in love. 

Gentle was her demeanor after a certain hour of the night, an hour he savored carefully. It was the cool breeze that came through the open window and touched his face when he was feeling lost. It was the calming way her hand absent-mindedly stroked his hair when she was concentrating on something else, her face focused on her laptop, her hand slow and soothing on his head as he inevitably fell asleep.

Bliss was the time he dragged her outside after a whole night of writing to watch the sunrise over the city, his tired face filled with simple, innocent wonder. It filled her heart and made her rarely silent when he looked at her like she was the only person alive. It made her float when they lay on her car in the parking lot in the middle of the night and watched the stars, twinkling far above them in the dark December sky. 

Radiance was her face, always brimming with bright smiles and cheeky grins. It was the way she always instinctively knew how to cheer him up when his face went sad. It poured out of her laugh and left him flooded in a sea of golden light.

Spirit was the blazing sparkle in his eye that always seemed to jump to hers. It was the bouncy excitement he could never contain, and it was contagious. It was the mischievous glint in his eye before he picked her up and carried her, kicking and squealing, across the building, past raised eyebrows and knowing smiles.

Beauty was the delicate way she held her son for the first time, eyelids heavy, while Seth watched, hiding by the door. It was the serenity and pure stillness that surrounded them in a peaceful bubble. It was the sun coming through the window, lighting her hair ablaze like a halo, and it was the mess of golden curls that framed her sleepy smile. It was the tenderness with which she held the baby in her arms, the way they breathed as one person. It was the sheer strength in her eyes that shone brighter blue than he had ever seen. She took his breath away.

And Love? Love was all of it. 

 

It was the bitterness and anger and jealousy. But it was also the gentleness, the exhilaration, and the hope. It may have been made of hatred and misery, but it was also made of radiance and bliss. For every night of longing, there was a day of spirit. And no matter how deep the despair buried them, the beauty gave them strength to dig themselves out. 

It was a constant battle against the elements of life, a war between the emotions where nobody won. They finished where they started each time, with only a little apprehension before they started up again.

But if a person weren’t made of emotions, what would they be made of? Each piece, no matter how painful, fit into their puzzle that was love.  
Now they know. They still despise the ugly feelings, but they accept them for what they are.  
Love.

Now they know.

Love has to be painful.  
Love has to hurt.

That’s what makes it so sweet.


End file.
